


The Only Logical Thing To Do

by Thistlerose



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Marauders' Era, Meta, Slash, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-05
Updated: 2010-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a school assignment, Sirius and Remus watch the TOS episode "Amok Time."  Initially scornful, Sirius becomes inspired to try his hand at slash fic.  Remus is not amused, though he is rather aroused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Logical Thing To Do

For the fifth time in under an hour, Sirius said, "I hate this assignment."

Without looking up from his notes, Remus replied absently, "I'm sure it hates you too."

"I'm sure it does, insofar as it's capable."

"Insofar. There's a word one doesn't hear in everyday speech."

"Well, I'm very smart. Too smart for this assignment. They ought to have called this program _Star Dreck._" Sounding pleased with himself.

"Smart, but not imaginative," said Remus. "I doubt you're the first person to come up with that."

"I could be the first _wizard_."

"You could," conceded Remus. He doubted it, but he didn't feel like arguing with Sirius. It was too hot and humid to argue. His skin felt too thick, and every crease from the backs of his bent knees to his armpits to the crack of his arse was slippery with sweat. Besides, he was already irritated with Sirius, who'd insisted they put off doing their Muggle Studies assignment until the last day of summer hols. He was irritated with _himself_ for listening to Sirius, but he'd made it so bloody enticing.

"Fuck the assignment," Sirius had said a week ago, when Remus had first brought it up. "We'll walk into town, see whatever film is playing at the cinema. We can buy some chips on the way, maybe nick some beers and sneak them in. Afterward, we'll have a good time. There's a club in town, right?"

"There's a pub," Remus had said doubtfully. "With a dance floor. I think there's live music on weekends."

"Good," Sirius had said, though he hadn't looked overly impressed. "We can write the essay on the train. Or even after the feast. Don't _worry._"

"I'm not worrying," Remus had lied.

It had started raining shortly after Remus's parents had left for work that morning.

"It'll clear up," Sirius had said.

_It won't,_ Remus had thought.

It hadn't. By lunch the rain had gone from heavy to torrential, and Remus had suggested an alternative to the cinema.

 

"I hate this telly-thing," Sirius said bitterly. "I hate that it only gets two channels. I hate that the alternative is the fucking ballet. I hate the rain. I hate not being allowed to use magic. I hate this assignment. A fucking analysis of some fucking aspect of Muggle fucking entertainment. Two feet of parchment! I could sum it up in two sentences: _Muggle entertainment is not entertaining. The end._"

"Are you finished?" asked Remus.

"No," said Sirius. "I have some strong objections to the nature of this assignment. For one thing, as underage wizards, we are at a distinct disadvantage. We can't Apparate to the cinema and _some_ of us—" he prodded Remus's side with his big toe "—live in the middle of nowhere."

"We had all summer," said Remus weakly. He was having trouble paying attention to the television.

"But some of us—" Sirius poked Remus again "—live in Scotland. Where – as today clearly shows – the weather is unpredictable. Moreover," he went on loudly, "some of us – like James and Peter – had plans for the holiday."

"I'm sure they have cinemas in Australia and Dover," Remus said, trying not to sound irritated. The episode was half over, and, frowning at his notes, he realized that they made very little sense. _Sp. Shag or die? K. brks rls – frnds v. imp. Planet. Old wmn? Funny ears?_

"_And_," continued Sirius, "it discriminates against purebloods, some of whom haven't got mates with parents with tellies." He poked Remus a third time, and that was enough.

"Shut up!" Remus spluttered, whirling around. "You understand you're not helping, don't you? Are you even paying attention? I don't know about you, but I happen to care about my marks, and unlike you, I can't write a two-foot essay between classes. I need notes. And time to write. And I need to know what I'm writing about."

"I'll do the writing," Sirius said, his eyebrows pinching together. "Don't worry."

"You haven't even been watching!" Remus was aware that he sounded slightly hysterical, and it made him crosser. It always happened; without James or Peter to act as buffers, Sirius made him twitchy and excitable. He felt hypersensitive, like he'd lost a protective layer.

"Sorry," said Sirius, not sounding very sorry.

"Just watch the stupid show," Remus said through his teeth. He slouched against the sofa cushions and stared at the television.

After a moment, Sirius said, "What's going on?"

"I'm _angry_."

"I mean, on the telly-thing."

"Oh." Remus sighed. "I don't know. I missed a lot of it. Thanks to you," he couldn't resist adding.

"Who's the bird with the pointy ears?"

Remus crossed his arms over his chest. "I. Don't. Know."

"That bloke has pointy ears, too. And that other bird."

"How observant."

"Are they related?"

Remus gave his notes a cursory glance. "I don't think so. I think the older woman might be some sort of matriarch. And the younger one is supposed to marry the man."

"The pointy-eared one?"

"Yes."

"The one who looks a bit like Snivellus?"

"Yes." A grunt. "Him."

"Poor bird."

They watched in silence for a few minutes. Remus learned the names of most of the characters, and figured out why they'd gone to the planet Vulcan. He made useful notes, like: _Alien planets named for Roman deities – significance?_ and _Most intellectual crewman must mate or die – significance?_

Then Sirius reached over and punched him playfully in the arm.

Remus jumped to his feet, his notes sliding off his knees, to the floor.

"What?" demanded Sirius. "It wasn't that hard."

"I'm thirsty," Remus said, which was true.

"Get me a lemonade, yeah?"

"Piss off," said Remus.

But he did get a second glass out of the cupboard for Sirius. As he poured the lemonade, he thought about running back into the living room and throwing it in Sirius's face. That would feel good.

No, it wouldn't. The lemonade was nice and cold, and Sirius didn't deserve that comfort. (So, why was Remus bringing him a glass?) Maybe he could find a bottle of lemon juice and pour half of it into Sirius's lemonade. Watching Sirius's lips twist would be satisfying too.

And juvenile. He was a _prefect._ That sort of thing was beneath him.

Besides…

Remus curled his fingers around the counter's edge. _Stop it,_ he thought, bowing his head and closing his eyes. The desire to do _something_ to Sirius was very strong, but if he did, they'd never finish their assignment.

_And he'll hex me tomorrow._

Not that he ever has_ hexed me._

But he could.

"Oi, Remus?" Sirius was calling him.

With a sigh, Remus raised his head, picked up the glasses, and carried them into the living room. Sirius was sitting exactly as he had been when Remus had gotten up – slouched low against the back of the sofa, one leg tucked against his chest – which could not be comfortable in that heat – the other stretched in front of him. For a moment, Remus was acutely aware of how very tan Sirius was, and of all the little whorls of black hair that clung with sweat to his forehead and temples.

He swallowed.

"I've got a theory," Sirius said, taking the glass that Remus handed him. He sipped. "Mmm. Thanks."

"You're welcome," said Remus. He reclaimed his seat, but he left his notes where they had fallen. "Theory?"

Sirius pointed to the television. Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock were fighting. Kirk's gold shirt was torn, revealing a good swath of chest. "They're poofs," said Sirius.

Remus choked on his lemonade.

"Look," continued Sirius, waving his finger. "Kirk disobeyed a direct order for his mate. He's risking his bloody career."

"I thought you weren't paying attention," Remus said weakly.

"I cotton on very quickly. Look." Sirius unbent his leg and leaned forward. "Look at Snivellus."

"Spock," Remus interjected.

"He's not interested in the girl – and she's a nice bit of skirt, despite the hair and ears. He's _got_ to shag her, or he'll die. It's like – he's under a bloody Imperius Curse!"

Sirius was on the edge of the sofa and Remus had a nice view of his broad shoulders and back. His t-shirt was soaked through with sweat, and Remus could imagine the muscles rippling underneath.

"He's under the Imperius Curse," Sirius was babbling, oblivious to Remus's stare. He seemed to have forgotten the glass in his hand; lemonade sloshed over the rim when he moved. "And the captain's got orders, but he cares more about his friend, so he takes him to the planet of the Snapes, all right? But he doesn't want the girl! And they've got to fight! Him and the captain! And he's just torn up about it. They both are. What a pair of queers. And the healer, too. Snapes and queers. That's our thesis. Look at those _trousers._ Did they run out of material at the knees?"

"They're not _that_ short…"

"Watch," instructed Sirius. "I'm right. You'll see."

He remembered his lemonade before the end of the episode, downed it in just three gulps, then grabbed Remus's parchment and quill from the floor and started to scribble. "Ha!" he said once, brandishing the quill, flecking Remus's forearm with black ink. "Ha…"

On the television, Spock said, "When I thought I'd killed the captain, I lost all interest in T'Pring. The madness was gone."

"Queer, queer, queer," muttered Sirius, curled over the parchment. "Did you see that hug? And he called him Jim! _Ha._ And look at the way he's smiling."

"A hug doesn't necessarily mean anything. He was glad he was alive! He thought he'd killed him. Besides, from what Dad tells me," Remus protested, "the captain pulls in just about every episode. _Girls._"

"Doesn't matter," Sirius replied. "A bloke can pull all the girls he pleases, and still fancy his mate."

"And _you_ would know," Remus said under his breath. He willed his gaze back to the television, but the only thing left to see was the credits. He wondered what was on next and how much more of Sirius he could handle. Good thing they'd be heading back to Hogwarts tomorrow.

"This is brilliant," Sirius said. "We are brilliant. Wait until Prongs and Wormtail see our essay. They'll laugh their arses off."

"That's a _good_ thing?"

The scratching of Sirius's quill abruptly stopped and Remus was somehow aware of Sirius's gaze on him. He continued to look stubbornly at the television. A cooking show was just starting.

"We can use this," Remus said hastily. "I'm sure we can write two feet of parchment about Muggle cooking. Dad always says that no good beer or coffee was ever made by magic – we can use that as an opening."

"Why are you trying to thwart me?"

"Huh?"

"You. You don't like my idea. Why? D'you have something against shirt-lifters?"

"Of course not," said Remus, flushing. "I just don't think that Kirk and Spock _are_ shirt-lifers, is all. I don't see why _you're_ so taken with the idea. We're going to get into trouble. If anyone sees our essay they're going to think _we're_ a pair of shirt-lifers. Is that what you want?"

"They'll think we're just having a laugh," Sirius said dismissively. "Taking the mickey out of poor Professor Smythe. Come on. What do you think happens after the episode ends?"

They didn't sound like fateful words.

"I don't know," said Remus. "They laugh about it, then go on to their next adventure."

"_I_ think," Sirius said eagerly, "that they send the healer after that blonde nurse and they have a bit of fun."

"I think you're mad."

"You think I'm brilliant. You're just ashamed to admit it."

"Ha."

"D'you know what else I think?"

"I don't want to hear it. I'm too busy thinking about how stupid this whole thing is."

"You're no fun. Must come of being a prefect."

That stung. Remus's mouth tasted sour, and it wasn't from the lemonade.

"Come on," pressed Sirius. "This is our last day of summer hols. Have a bit of fun. What d'you think happens next? _Oh, Jim! Jim!_ Blowjobs?"

Remus sighed. "I don't think they do _anything_. Remember what Spock said about wanting not being the same as having?"

Sirius snorted. "Having's much better."

"Says he who's got everything."

"Blowjobs," said Sirius decisively. "'Show me how glad you are to see me,' said the Captain, fondling the pointy ears. " Remus could hear the scratch of the quill again; he was actually writing that rubbish down. "'Yes, Captain. Yes, _my_ Captain.'"

"He wouldn't say _that_," objected Remus. There was obviously nothing he could do to deter Sirius; he might as well play along, he decided. "He'd say something about how these feelings are…illogical."

"That's good," said Sirius. "Very good, Moony. What else?"

"'You're right, Spock. Completely illogical. Now, let's take some tea with McCoy.'"

"No," said Sirius firmly. "He'd say something like… 'That's right. They're completely illogical. But I don't care! Suck me, Sn – er, you! Alien!' Merlin, that was almost disgusting."

"It _is_ disgusting," snickered Remus, amused despite himself. He glanced at what Sirius had written. "Anyway, Kirk _wouldn't_ say that. You _can't_ say that on the telly."

"Fine. What should he do? Just grab him and kiss him?"

"I like _my_ idea."

"Which was?"

"I told you," said Remus. "Tea. With McCoy. And the blonde nurse. Chapel, I think her name is."

"No. Shagging."

"You've got a one-track mind."

"Of course I do," Sirius said, raising his head and giving Remus a lopsided grin. "I'm a teenage boy. Don't know what _you_ are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Remus asked, feeling slightly punctured.

"You've no interest in sex."

"I've no interest in writing about _blokes_ having sex. I'm not interested in writing about sex, full stop. I'd prefer having it, thanks very much." He said the last bit very quietly.

With the back of his wrist, Sirius flicked his fringe out of his eyes. The curve of his lips deepened. "What d'you reckon those aliens are like…you _know_ where? Pointy?"

Remus swallowed.

"Let's just say," said Sirius, turning back to his manuscript, "that they're just like us. All right? 'Suck me,' the captain said. 'Show me how glad you are to see me.' So, the alien got onto his knees and pulled the captain's trousers down. 'This isn't logical,' said the alien, 'but I can't resist.' Then he took him in his hands."

Remus squirmed against the sofa cushions. There was nothing remotely arousing about this drivel, but he could feel his cock twitching against his pants. What was wrong with him?

"Big, smooth hands," said Sirius, writing as he spoke. "The captain groaned."

If only it hadn't rained. If only they'd gone to the cinema. Remus grabbed a sofa cushion and held it over his lap. Beads of sweat slid down the nape of his neck, between his shoulder blades.

"'Jim,' said the alien, 'I didn't want to live without you. I'd probably have killed myself if you'd really been dead.' 'Don't talk,' urged the captain. 'Put your mouth to better use.' How's that, Moony?"

"Uh," said Remus, feeling light-headed. He couldn't read, he realized. And looping black lines on the parchment had ceased to be words. They were just black curls, like Sirius's hair.

"I'll be back in a minute," Remus whispered, and got shakily to his feet. He didn't remember the walk to his bedroom, but it was a relief to suddenly find himself there, to close the door and flop onto his bed, his legs dangling over the side.

He closed his eyes and tried to shut out everything except the drumming of the rain against his window. No luck.

Ah well, then.

Not thinking about what he was doing or why he was doing it, Remus unzipped his jeans and pushed them and his pants down, baring his hips and his erection.

_Get it over with, get it over with, get back out there, or Sirius will start to wonder._

Sirius.

He had a beautiful mouth, with thin, reddish lips. When he wasn't yattering, he had this way of looking at a person, lips half-parted, tip of his tongue peeking out at the corner, like he was tasting something delicious, or like he'd just been ravished.

Remus wrapped his fingers around his erection. His palm was sweaty and glided easily over the heated length. He slid his other hand under his shirt and pinched one of his nipples.

_Get it done!_

He pinched hard, moved his hand up and down quickly. He bit his lower lip, but the grunts of frustration got out anyway.

_Fuck_ Sirius.

Well, yes, that would be nice. Unfortunately…

He switched to the other nipple, circling it with the tip of his index finger, and pumped his erection. He imagined Sirius curled over him, imagined the sharp lines of his jaw and collarbone, the heady scent of him. He imagined that he was biting Sirius's lips, gnawing them redder, then pushing his tongue between them while he pushed his cock against Sirius's.

He was getting closer. He could see the edge behind his closed eyelids, looming closer, could feel the world coming undone at the seams.

The bedroom door opened and closed.

Remus froze.

_I'm not here._

It was amazing how quickly the sweat on his skin seemed to dry, amazing how quickly his stomach could transfigure itself into a lump of stone. Of course, his cock stood up like one of those stupid red phone booths, all but screaming, _Looking at me! Here I am, the bloody perv!_

"My story wasn't _that_ good," said Sirius.

"Don't tell anyone," Remus pleaded. He'd have offered Sirius anything to keep quiet about this, but the words crammed in his throat.

_Come on, lightning. Kill me, now._

After what seemed a long time, Sirius said, "This isn't about the pointy-eared bird, is it?"

Remus could have said _yes._ Or, he could have said, _Not her, the blonde nurse. And that officer woman. The black one, with the skirt that wasn't really there._ But that lie got stuck among the other things choking him, and he shook his head.

"Good," Sirius said.

The bed jounced violently, then Sirius was on him, grabbing his wrists and forcing them over his head, pinning them to the blanket.

Remus opened his eyes.

"Hello," said Sirius. His fringe flopped over his eyes, shadowing all but a crescent moon of grey iris. His lips quirked.

"Hello," said Remus. Then, with a calmness that frightened him, "What are you doing?"

"The only logical thing." Sirius shifted his legs, and Remus felt the bulge, hard and unmistakable, against his thigh. "Television leads to deviant behavior," he murmured, leaning so close that his lashes tickled Remus's cheek. His tongue flicked out, touched the corner of Remus's mouth.

"Deviant behavior," Remus said, while the stone his stomach had become slowly crumbled. "Uh."

Sirius worked his mouth open and started to kiss him. There was no alcohol on his breath, and this wasn't the sort of thing about which you joked.

Huh.

"Deviant behavior." Sirius's words buzzed against Remus's lips. "As this is an assignment, I think we ought to find out just _how_ deviant, don't you?"

Remus bucked involuntarily, and a shiver went through him as his groin nudged Sirius's. He yanked one of his hands free, grabbed the bottom of Sirius's shirt, and tugged it up so he could get at the skin beneath. The bed lurched as they grappled each other.

Sirius laughed. "Say 'Suck me, Captain.'"

"No." Remus raked his nails across Sirius's side, raised his legs to wrap them around Sirius's, and kissed like a half-drowned man, struggling for air.

It was, as Sirius had said, the only logical thing to do.

03/29/06


End file.
